Me
by Shinigami29
Summary: [Drabble] I am doing something that I haven't done at work since I became a CSI: drinking about five litres of coffee, resisting the urge to bounce off the walls, running nervous hands through my hair, and scratching sweaty wrists.


**Me**

You may think I'm crazy, hell, the rest of the world might think it too, but I know better than the rest of them what it's like for the other people in that interrogation room. The rest of them being the Night Shift. Oh, and the Swing Shift. For that matter, all the shifts. Any and all CSIs only have a taste what it is like. I have been on the other side. I _know _the nervousness, the uncertainty, the wondering if maybe I had beaten the shit outta that guy when I was drunk. But that was a long time ago, and this is now.

Now I am doing something that I haven't done at work since I became a CSI: drinking about five litres of coffee, resisting the urge to bounce off the walls, running nervous hands through my hair, and scratching sweaty wrists. Only one person in the entire lab knows anything about my past, and that would be Grissom; the only reason he knows is because he has to. Stupid boss in New York thought that I was _'incapable of doing the job without fucking up at every turn'_... right, that last part was made up...

Why am I acting like this? Like something that I am apparently not? Because images are fucking deceiving, and if I don't act like this at least one day a month I'll spontaneously combust. Not my damn fault this month's fell on a workday. Do you know what it's like to fight the urge to run out to the nearest dealer and shoot up in some dark, bacteria infested dumpster? How about to cry yourself to sleep with a few bottles of vodka on your nightstand? Sitting on the edge of a tub full of water with a blow dryer? Sticking the barrel of a gun in your month? If you answered yes to any or all of those questions, you're as screwed up as I am.

But I've been getting better... I suppose that you need to know the entire story to understand how the hell I could be any better.

You see, it all started back in New York...

_Seven Years Ago..._

"Mora! I'm home!" he called as he entered the door, arms laden with books.

"Darling! Your home!" his mother called as she came up to him, kissing his cheek. His family were pretty well off, and well respected in the city. "That friend of your came over... Mandy is it?"

"Maddi," he corrected. "Her name is Maddi... and don't pretend that you like my taste in women Ma, I know you hate her guts."

"Now, now..." she forced a smile. "I don't hate her guts... I'm actually thrilled that her guts didn't reject your aunt's tuna casserole... her personality, dress, grades, job, hobbies and body art on the other hand..."

"Hey, I've got piercings and tattoos too!" he teased her, walking towards the front room.

"But not where just anyone can see them," she countered. She stopped outside the front room, letting him carrying on to the library by himself.

Awaiting him was the girl of his most recent dreams, Maddi. She was kinda crazy, and always interrupting his thoughts, but great none-the-less. "There you are," she purred as she walked up to him, taking his books out of his hands. She tossed them onto the nearest chair before pouncing on him, almost sending them both to the ground as they battled with their tongue and lips...

When she pulled away, he was confused. Then she pulled a needle out of her pocket. "What's that for?"

"This, silly, is for pleasure," she grinned at him coyly. "Come on... it'll be great."

"Hey," he backed away from her, "I've done all the research I need on that stuff to know not to take it."

"But it's great!" She stepped closer. "Come on... just give it a try, if you don't like it, you never have to do it again... please? For me?"

_...Present_

Yeah, I know, I was an idiot. I mean, who does something like that? Who would throw their life away like that? I had actually convinced the Crime Lab out there to let me shadow them until I had finished all my classes! I could of had a nice, respectable job out there and never had to deal with it again! I could of just inherited my parents will like every other god damned child in this world!

Which leaves burning questions, I know, but those will be answered later. If I give a damn.

You know, someone bothered to ask me why I was acting stuck up today. They stopped me in my blissful ignorance and asked me why I was being such an asshole. I mean, I had been getting, _'lay off the coffee' _and, _'WAY too happy for this time of the day man' _all night, but stuck up? I was venting! I was living! I was surviving! So it's no damn wonder that I blew up in all of their faces...

Right, I think I should go to a therapist or something... you know, someone who may actually care.

But you're probably just dying to know the rest of the story, so I guess it's my duty to tell you the most important bits... this is, after all, written to clarify to the world, and myself, that I am too crazy to be alive.

After Maddi completely destroyed my life and got me addicted to too many types of drugs to name, we started dating. Officially. Meaning that all our friends knew, and our families knew, and that the people who caught us making out in the public library had a better reason to lecture us. Yes, I know, public library, corny. I'm a nerd with a University Degree; of course I'm going to go to the library!

_Six Years Ago..._

"Look, it's that genius 'richy rich' kid!" some guy laughed behind them. He rolled his eyes and tightened his hold around Maddi's waist. "Don't walk away from us Richy Rich! Hold up and talk!"

"Hey," he stopped, turning around to glare at them. There were four of them. "Don't call me that, okay? Just because I happen to be sma-" The rest of the sentence was silenced as he received a punch to the jaw.

"You're coming with us, Richy Rich," another guy said as they grabbed him and Maddi. "And so is your little girlfriend..."

A few dozen punches later, all he saw was black.

_...Present_

Oh, don't worry, I'll be telling you more about that night. That was a night to remember... not that I remember it very clearly. Or so I told everyone. I was supposed to testify, but I couldn't do that. I can't do that. Can't. Present tense. Meaning that there's going to be another trial about it soon.

I got the letter just yesterday that they are reopening the case.

Which case is this? Of the murder of four boys who go by the names Styles, Kyle, Ray and Michael. Two of which were privately screwing each other every chance they got; no kidding, they did it right in front of me when they thought I was still knocked out. I mean... a sixteen year old and a twenty one year old? Can anyone say rape?

But those aren't the facts of the case.

_Six Years Ago..._

"You okay?" he looked up at the CSI in front of him. He knew her, Kaili Haynes. He used to shadow her at work. "I have to ask you... are you high?"

"If I were high you would know, trust me," he mumbled. "No, I think I'm very low at the moment..."

"Great..." Kaili sighed. "I had hoped that the Tox report was wrong... you know you have three different drugs in your system? You're lucky you haven't had an OD."

"Get to the point."

"Right..." she sighed again, and put pictures in front of him. Four boys, all tethered together with the same rope slung from the railings of a warehouse, hung side by side with '!ECITSUJ' carved into their naked forms. "I need you to tell me everything you can about this."

He hesitated. He had seen it all, from when Maddi had seemed to of just... snapped, to when she stood there, blood drenched and tying knots. She had scrubbed down every surface she could think of, but he knew that she missed several key things. They didn't need his help to solve the case, and they wouldn't take his word anyways. He was stoned, he could of seen anything.

"Nothing..."

_...Present_

Can you understand why I hate interrogating people? Not that anyone really knows that... apparently I hide it really well. But every time I'm in an interrogation room, I can't help but think of that quadruple homicide, and Maddi, and sitting in the back of the courtroom as I watched her being taken away in cuffs.

School ended later that year, and the only way to vent, the only way to live, the only way to survive, was to leave. I left my comforting lands of New York, and I ended up here, in a one bedroom apartment in Las Vegas. Now I'm a CSI, remembering a murder I witnessed when I was 24, committed by a girl I thought I had loved, drinking coffee to keep away from an addiction I never wanted in the first place. After all, that's the only way to get rid of an addiction; become addicted to something else. And I'm not just talking about the drugs.

Maddi was crazy. Maddi was wild. Maddi was a psychotic murderer, but no one could ever set my heart on fire like she did...

Which is probably why I'm going after Sara Sidle these days.

_Last Shift..._

"Just one date?" he begged with the most adorable puppy dog look he could muster. They had just left the interrogation room, leaving him slightly more sober than he would have liked.

"I'll make you a deal," she answered.

"Okay, what," he grinned. He finally won!

"Break room first," was her response. His face fell, but he followed slowly. Now he was a little worried... what was all this about? Why not just go out with him? He was a good guy, honest!

When they entered the break room, Nick and Warrick happened to be there. He didn't know why, it wasn't often that they ever got breaks at the same time anymore... but anything could happen, right? And as luck would have it, Catherine and Grissom came in shortly after.

"Right, that deal," Sara said, turning to look at him. He paled.

"Sure you want to tell me here?" he squeaked out. The room seemed heavy with silence, though he could see the peoples' lips around him moving. "Why don't we step outside?"

"No," Sara smiled. "You tell me why you've been so stuck up today, and I'll go to breakfast with you."

He blinked. "Stuck up?" There was no squeak in his voice, so something else must have turned him to the center of attention. "Stuck up! How have I been acting stuck up! Oh wow, I'm telling you that maybe the kid doesn't wanna talk to you about it! Hell, the kid probably doesn't wanna talk to me about it either! He witnessed a murder!"

"I witnessed one when I was a kid," Sara hissed at him. "Doesn't make me act that way."

"Actually it does," he hissed back. "And even so, it's not the same! The girl was his best friend, and was about to kill him too! How would you feel if Grissom killed Catherine and then held a knife to your throat?"

"Greg," ironically enough, it was Grissom who stepped between them. "Go outside, take a breather. Maybe phone your mother and tell her your okay? Oh, and no more coffee for today, alright?"

"Sure," he took a deep breathe, and dared a glance at Sara. She looked... shocked.

_...Present_

You know, I feel like shit right now. That's why I'm sitting on the edge of a tub filled with water, a blow dryer on my lap and the barrel of a gun in my mouth. I mean, if I don't work up the courage to do it one way, I can always to it the next, right?

Wrong.

You know, I find it sickening how weak I am when faced with my own death. I basically laughed off the death of four people, refused to testify because I love the murderer, and forced one of my best friends into thinking about the worst case scenarios for a good long time, and yet committing suicide seems beneath me. I can struggle on the edge of it for however long I like, I still can't force myself to commit even the slightest of personal pain. The thought of taking a heroin needle and sticking it in my veins, though appealing, won't work because it goes _through _the skin and even the smallest of air bubbles may cause instant death.

Just so you know, the blow dryer is now unplugged, the gun is on the counter, and the tub is draining.

_After Last Shift..._

"Greg!" he didn't stop as he went to his car, but neither did her. She caught his door as he tried to slam it shut, almost getting her fingers caught. "Greg... hold up, will you? Grissom explained some of it to me... I'm sorry, okay?"

"What did he explain?" he asked, not looking at her.

"He told me that someone you cared about killed four people," she muttered. "That you were the only witness, even if you were unable to testify..."

"Then Grissom doesn't know the truth," he snapped again. "Maddi wasn't just someone I cared about; she's someone I lived for. I loved her then, and I still love her now, and I sat there and just watched as she took a knife to four boys, then refused to testify, saying that I didn't know anything. _Because I love her._ And don't you dare pity me Sara, because it's you who needs to be pitied for not having someone to love that much..."

_...End_


End file.
